Anger was an emotion that flowed through him so easily. He spent his own time not really sure what to do with himself. Hunting collecting supplies. Yet he still he felt like a black sheep. When he’d came to the armada it had been with revenge in mind, but time passed and life went on. There was no more to be said or done about he and his estranged siblings. Nirah growled under his breath, useless, that’s all he was. He’d fallen behind in training and never got the motivation to pick it back up again. Taking the rock between his claws he scraped etchings into them in no particular order.

So, where did he go from here? Get anxious about losing his spot in the pack. He wasn’t interested in becoming some big wig. The tree he lay under covered most of the sun, only tiny streams poking through to illuminate the wolf as he worked on his rock as some sort of outlet for his racing angry thoughts. Why did he have to do this? Lastly he grumbled chucking the rock as far as he could in front of him, hopefully it didn’t hit anyone.

It was another day in the Armada, sunlight falling through the trees of the woods. This place was calming to Charlie. They were home, a big part of the world he had grown up in. Ears were perked forward as he half patrolled, half strolled through the territory. His tail flicked back and forth, noticing the different scents of the wolves who had been through here recently. One more recent caught his attention and, following the trail, it led him to Nirah. The other male had come here after the fall of his mother from her position of leadership… but Charlie hadn't really seen him around doing too much. Brow furrowing with concern he chose to approach. “How are you holding up, Nirah?” He asked. "Speech," 'Thought.'